Mya's Mistake
by LysPotter
Summary: AU. We all know what Hermione saw when she faced the Boggart in the exam for third-year DADA. But…what if she lied? Dark, child abuse. Alternate summary inside.
1. Episode One

**Disclaimer:** If I owned Harry Potter, I would not do sports and injure myself and then have to sit out for the rest of the afternoon. Quite frankly, it sucks. So here I am. Not owning Harry Potter.

**Rating: **T

**Summary: **AU. We all know what Hermione saw when she faced the Boggart in the exam for third-year DADA. But…what if she lied? Dark, child abuse.

**Alternate Summary: **AU. _"I'm going to bed, before either one of you comes up with another clever idea to get us killed. Or worse, expelled!"_ There was always a reason for Hermione's words. What did she mean when she said that? It's always been her secret.

**Warnings: **Abuse, language

**Mya's Mistake**

Hermione took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. She had a very bad feeling about this. A very, very, _very_ bad feeling. She was acutely aware of Professor Lupin, standing just outside. She couldn't screw this up, or she'd fail Defense Against the Dark Arts, or something like that.

She broke out into a cold sweat. Her clammy hand slipped on the handle of her wand. A door appeared in the wall, an unassuming dark wood door. She watched the door closely as it began to swing open. It was just a boggart. She could handle it. She'd faced a troll, for goodness's sake!

A big, long-fingered hand curled around the door. The bottom dropped out of her stomach. _Oh, please no…not…_

The door opened, torturously slow. Hermione swallowed uncomfortably. The door kept the figure's face in shadow, but she had a pretty good idea of what—or who—it was.

When the first foot stepped down onto the cold stone floor of the room, she dropped her wand. She knew those shoes. And she'd never expected to see them at Hogwarts. The long, slender piece of wood clattered against the stone as the rest of the figure came into view.

Hermione was breathing in short pants now, her heart beating at a hundred miles an hour.

Her father had come to Hogwarts.

He looked exactly as he always did. His thick leather belt, holding up his black trousers. She always noticed the belt first. The bottle of alcohol clenched tightly in his right hand. The alcohol was always second. His navy-blue tie loosened, the top button of his white collared shirt undone, his hair perfectly parted and groomed. She looked away from his face, back to the floor. She knew that infuriated smirk almost better than she knew her own name.

"Hermione Rose," he began coolly, the way he always did. She hated how his voice slid over her name. And she was never Hermione, always "Hermione Rose". "Hermione Rose, your mother and I are very disappointed in you. We allow you to attend that freak school of yours purely out of the goodness of hearts, and how do you repay our kindness?" He tutted at her. "You misbehave and get yourself expelled." His voice was only slightly slurred—he wasn't too drunk yet, but she knew that could change. She braced herself. "And your mother and I are called to your damn school, leaving your little brother in the care of some girl who charges far too much for her services, only to find that you've failed all your classes as well. Now, is that any way to thank us for all we've done for you?"

Hermione studied the ground. "No, sir," she said quietly. "I apologize, sir."

"What happens to ungrateful freak girls?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm. She suppressed a shiver. She knew that tone. More importantly, she knew what _followed_ that tone.

"'m punished," she whispered, eyes still fixed on the stone floor.

A hand connected with her cheek, throwing her off-balance. She managed to catch herself before she fell down. "Speak up, girl!"

"I'm to be punished, sir, for forgetting my place, and what I owe to you for everything you've done for me," she recited from memory, only barely louder.

"Damn right," he spat. She could hear the belt sliding from the belt loops, and she bit her lip, trying to suppress a shiver. He saw it anyway.

"Are you scared, Hermione Rose?" he demanded.

"N-no. Sir. No, sir," she lied. He slapped her again, harder this time. She willed her legs to stay strong, but she fell to her knees anyway.

"Don't lie to your father. _Are you scared_, Hermione Rose?" he repeated, his temper rising.

She swallowed. "Yes, sir," she said honestly.

He snorted, disgusted. "Some daughter I have. A cowardly freak." Hermione vaguely remembered something, something about Hogwarts, and exams. She ignored it. This was more important right now, if she didn't want to die.

Something cool and thin pressed against her hand. She looked over and saw her wand on the ground. She gaped at it for a minute, before she turned back to her father. Everything came rushing back. Boggarts.

She struggled to her feet, almost not feeling her father's third slap. She pointed her wand straight at the apparition and enunciated clearly, "_Riddikulus_!"

Her limbs felt weak and floaty, as if she'd just exercised too much. But she focused on the whirling mist in front of her, expecting it to make something funny so she wouldn't fail.

But the mist stopped whirling, and there sat five-year-old Thom Granger, arms around little Alex, exactly as she had last seen them except for a few differences. His head was propped on his knees, pulled up to his chest, and he was crying, tears wetting the knees of his trousers. "This is all your fault, Mya. If it wasn't for you, Daddy wouldn't hate us. Why'd I have to be a freak like you?" He sniffled. "If I wasn't a freak, maybe Daddy and Mummy would love me like they used to. It's all your fault, Mya, and I hate you!" She finally noticed the purple-and-black bruise on his cheek, and her split lip. "I don't want to talk to you _ever again_, Mya!" She tried not to realize that she was crying.

"_Riddikulus_!" she said again.

The gray mist swirled for a few minutes before a woman with dark hair appeared. Hermione tried to stop the gasp from coming out of her mouth. It was Kate Bassett, and she had a look of fury on her face. "I practically take you in, let you use my piano, teach you how to play, and what do you do for me? Nothing! You bring your destructive little brother in here, and I find that you've broken the vase that was passed down to me from my great-grandmother! I trusted you, Hermione, and you broke that trust!" Her face twisted with anger. "Get out. I never want to see you in my house again!"

Hermione raised her wand again, tears flowing freely down her face. "_Riddikulus_!" She dreaded what the boggart would find next.

Harry stood in front of her. "I remember you!" he exclaimed. Hermione stared, confused. "You were that hopeless little tagalong girl who always used to climb that thing at the park, back when we were just kids. You always tried to get everyone to leave you alone. Well, guess what, Hermione. You can have all the solitude you'd like. Ron and I are through with little nerdy hangers-on. Go play with your books, and leave Ron and me to do the real work." He smirked. "I'd say it's been nice, but, well, it hasn't."

She brushed away the tears on her face and said "_Riddikulus_!" one last time. The body of her little sister Alexandra, beaten, broken, was lying on the ground in front of her, her father standing over it with a frightening smile on his face. She screamed and ran out of the trunk.

Professor Lupin, Harry, and Ron were waiting for her just outside the trunk. "Hermione!" the professor exclaimed. "What's the matter?"

For a moment she thought she'd tell them. She'd tell them everything, everything that had happened to her, everything that would as soon as she went home. Everything she was afraid of.

But she was too afraid to tell them anything. Better that they think she was still the Hermione they knew and not anything more.

"P-P-Professor McGonagall!" she lied. "She said I'd failed everything!" (1)

Let them think all that mattered to her was schoolwork. It was no more than they already thought, by the exasperated but unsurprised look on Ron's face.

She let them take forever to "calm her down". At least this way no one would discover her secret.

Maybe someday she'd tell them.

BREAK

A/N: Well, this came from somewhere. My brain. Presumably. Reminds me a little of "Deepest Fear Revealed", a boggart-abuse story featuring Harry that I am reading. This may carry over into another section of one-shot, involving a teenaged Hermione and a boggart in Grimmauld Place. Depends on how much of it I get written and (to a lesser extent) the response to this shot.

Other than that, hope you enjoyed my nice little evil dark mood.

It _was_ inspired by my view of Hermione in relation to the PS movie quote featured above. I always wondered about her reasons for saying it.

Thanks for reading,

LysPotter

(1) What is contained in the quotes is directly from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by JK Rowling.

That is all.


	2. Episode Two

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I would be SO rich I would not bother writing fanfiction

**Disclaimer:** If I owned Harry Potter, would I be procrastinating in doing my APUSH summer work? Yeah, thought not. No, I'm not JKR. 'Nuff said.

**Rating: **T

**Summary: **AU. We all know what Hermione saw when she faced the Boggart in the exam for third-year DADA. But…what if she lied? Dark, child abuse.

**Episode 2 Summary: **AU. Hermione is just now seventeen years old. She's spending what little remains of the summer at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, but she's sidetracked when she discovers a boggart in the upstairs closet.

**Warnings: **Abuse, language

**Mya's Mistake: Episode Two**

"Hey Mya," Ginny dropped over her shoulder, "there's something in the linen closet upstairs that you might be able to take care of for us—I know I'd really appreciate it, and so would Mum." Hermione shrugged, nodded, and walked up the stairs.

The dark-haired girl sighed, stretched her neck, and unlocked the linen closet. How bad could it be? Ginny was still sixteen, couldn't do magic outside school yet, and Mrs. Weasley, truth was, was best with her household spells and not anything of a potentially Dark nature lurking about in the cleansed Black Family Home. She was obviously the first person Ginny had seen with the capabilities of handling the challenge.

She watched the door swing open and bang into the wall. But she wasn't watching the door after that. She was watching her father, again picture-perfect down to every last detail, as he carried her sister out of the closet by a heavy hand around her neck. Flashes of silvery light flashed around the hand, as though the six-year-old girl was trying to sting him. Hermione rushed forward. "Alex—Aly…" She was afraid to reach out and touch the girl. Her eyes darted up to her father, fearful and uncertain. He smirked at her, an ugly leer.

"Bet you didn't know, did you? She's been doing this sort of thing for years! The boy too. I can't believe this. You corrupted them—corrupted my children! I should have guessed it would be you to do such a thing, too," he spat. He let Alex drop, unheeded, to the floor, her hands pressing gently against her bruised throat. Hermione recognized the black eye ringing the tearful brown and fought the tears back. She couldn't show weakness in front of him. That would only make things worse.

"Thought I couldn't find you here, eh? Thought you were safe?" He was drunk, very drunk; Hermione could smell it on his breath. She shivered. "Thought that little magic of yours would keep me out? Oh, yes, Thom told me it all. I asked, and he told." The unpleasant smile on his face left little doubt as to how Stephen had "asked".

"What did you do to him?" Hermione breathed.

"Oh, nothing much," he waved it off. "He was a good boy, took it all without crying, like a man." His eyes hardened and turned cold. "So you thought you were done, just 'cause you're seventeen? Well, guess what, sweetheart? You're _my_ daughter, and in _my_ world, you aren't an adult 'til you're eighteen. So you still belong to me. We'll get rid of this magic nonsense yet."

Hermione glanced back at her sister, still lying on the floor bruised and crying. He noticed her look and grinned mirthlessly. "See what happens when you go away, 'Mya'?" he taunted. "Your precious little ones get hurt." His sing-song voice was grating and harsh. "So why do you want to go away?"

Hermione clenched her fists. "I told you to leave them alone," she forced out, hating how her voice shook. "I told you that you could do whatever you wanted with me as long as you left them alone. They were too young—she's only six, you bastard!" She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. "And I was only four, I was only eight, I was only nine!" She refused to let the tears fall. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "I was too young to make the decision, but I gave it all—I gave you my life, I really did. I thought it might help them, but I was wrong. You're too selfish for that." She could hear the tears in her voice. "He's your son, dammit, and she's your daughter. They deserve better for a father."

He was tired of her yelling. He punched her in the stomach, his hand coming back to backhand her in the face. She heard Alex yelp behind him as the breath fled her lungs. She gasped and choked, trying to bring it back into her lungs, shooting a look over at her sister, who still lay crumpled on the ground.

"Now, now, Hermione Rose, you know what happens when you talk back." His baby voice was painful. "Things only get worse."

She clenched her eyes shut and braced herself for the blow she knew was coming. It still knocked her off her feet and onto the floor. He'd always been stronger than her.

He loosened his tie and took a gulp of his drink. She gasped for breath, winded by the impact with the floor. Nonetheless, she pushed herself up on her elbows. She wouldn't let him mock her for weakness, not again.

"'I gave you my life'," he mimicked her, dangerously quiet. "Did you ever think I wanted anything from you? You never should've been born!" He planted a foot on her chest and pushed her back to the ground. She coughed, her hands coming up to grip his ankle as she tried to wrench his foot off of her. Alex latched on to his other ankle, trying to draw his attention away from her sister.

"No, Aly, let go!" she practically screamed. "Don't do this to yourself, I can handle it!"

The man kicked the young girl away from him nonchalantly. "You ought to listen to your sister, Alexandra Louise. She knows how it works." He used his shod foot to press on her windpipe. She struggled to bring air into her starved lungs.

"Fuck you," she wheezed, eyes bright with anger.

"I believe that was _you_, daughter mine," he retorted, pressing harder. She struggled harder, hauling on his foot. He was too heavy. "You're going to die here," he told her. "You've outlived your usefulness. You're too old to be interesting anymore. So I'll just leave your body as a present for your friends." He smirked. "Fitting, seeing as it's only just been your birthday, isn't it love?"

"What the fuck?"

Hermione jumped at the voice behind her. _Draco_? she mouthed. She tried desperately to drag air into her lungs, but nothing worked. "Help," she rasped, trying to turn her head. Draco Malfoy, recent addition to the fighting force, jumped in, wand aimed at Stephen. "Let her—"

His shape began to change, becoming a whirling ball of gray mist before it was replaced by the figure of Severus Snape with a coldly furious look on his face. Draco flinched a little, but all he said was "Riddikulus," forcing the boggart back into the cupboard under the force of his spell. As soon as it was inside, he closed the door and barred it with a spell. Then he knelt in front of her, helping her sit up. She coughed and spluttered as she pulled as much air into her lungs as she could, feeling a bruise forming on her neck. The young man put a hand on her back, supporting her silently.

"Who was that?" he finally asked her, his voice forcibly calm. His eyes were focused directly on hers, the silver-gray almost sparking with intensity.

She turned her face away, a flush creeping up her face. "My father," she rasped, her voice hoarse. "And the little girl was my sister, Alex."

They sat in silence for another couple of minutes. "Ever told anyone?"

"No one."

"Are you afraid of him, or what he'll do to her?" He was amazingly perceptive—but then, if rumors were to be believed, his life was about the same.

"Them, actually—I've a younger brother as well. They're both Muggle, as far as I know, but…I can't shake the fear that I'm not the only one. As you can tell." She laughed, an odd, choking laugh. "I'm afraid to get an invitation to a funeral or a visit one day begging me to please come home because Thom or Alex won't wake up. He's only nine, and she's six." She took a deep, shuddering breath, pushing herself to her feet. She waited until he was standing next to her. "They've never said anything, though."

"I'm sure they'd trust you to keep them safe," Draco said, an odd look on his face as he tentatively put a hand on her shoulder. She smiled shakily at him.

"Umm, Draco? Please…please just don't tell anyone." It was still her secret, after all.

BREAK

A/N: Yeah, that's been in the works since I wrote Episode 1 of Mya's Mistake…now here it is, finally finished today. More to come, hopefully—will she check on Alex and Thom? Don't hold your breath, it'll probably be way longer, especially since I've got chapters for Veiled Identity and Parents from the Playground in the works (_in the works_). I've been getting incredibly distracted, but anyway, hope you enjoy! Maybe consider reviewing?

Thanks,

LysPotter


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